sw1mushfandomcom-20200215-history
The Ambassador's New Clothes
Crew Quarters -- V2SD Nemesis Crew quarters are spread across numerous decks of the Nemesis, grouped by station, watch and rank. The bulk of the crew and garrison are enlisted personnel who occupy bunk assignments in reasonable proximity to their duty stations and sharing large mess halls - living, eating, sleeping and working alongside their comrades. Junior commissioned officers are afforded individual quarters seperate from the enlisted men, space remains at a premium aboard a warship and these rooms are small but afford a degree of personalisation and privacy not dreamed of by the lower orders. Senior officers occupy large (by naval standards) state rooms, furnishing them lavishly. ____________________________________________________________________________________ Too many more meals of this magnitude, and Ambrosia will be restored to her former weight in no time... Having eaten little more than a fistful of solid food, the ambassador is still feeling groggy enough to lapse into a calorie-induced coma. She walks stiffly alongside her armed escort in silence, chin up, eyes forward, in effort to snub any and every possible show of interest cast her way by curious crew. Ambrosia isn't too icy a guest, however, to have not acknowledged that her situation has improved marginally by the forced cooperation. She's clean, and she's *walking*. The wardrobe isn't bad, either. Glancing down her wrapped layers of linen and silk overlay, she toys with some frivalous fringe dangling from her left sleeve cuff. "Seven..." the Stormtrooper who'd remained on guard outside the quarters Ambrosia and her estranged daughter have shared since their release from the Nemesis' detention facilities greets the woman's escort, rather than her, head bobbing in acknowledgement as he moves to key in the security code to the door. The electronic mechanism chirps approvingly and the large asymmetrical doors sealing the wide curved archway slide back to the dull whir of a smooth mechanism. The gesture is returned by 'Seven', who addresses his? her? compatriot over the gender-neutralizing vocoder as 'Eight', his looming presence over the former ambassador serving to herd her into her rather upscale jail cell, though he stops shy of laying hands upon her. Kovani sits upon a low backed couch, one of two that forms an informal nook around a glass surfaced table, her arms wrapped around her knees. She retains her uniform, though the removal of rank badges and divisional insignia remains a telling statement. Ambrosia obediently takes four or five steps into the grandeur of their upgraded quarters, then stops. Her back remains turned to 'eight', stare drifting to examine a loosed bit of embroidery on her right arm, waiting for the trooper to leave. When the boots clomp away and doors thud back into place, she exhales. Her hands find their rest, cupping over the perceived fullness of her belly, and she relocates to the other couch, opposite her offspring. Nervous silence reigns here, tonight as most every did since the revelation. Her lips pinch over a probing tongue, seeking to pry a lingering morsel from between her canine and its neighbor. Too-deeply entrenched in this hygienic mission to be believable, her stolen glances to examine the subtle change in her daughter's attire are made that much more obvious. "Did they ... bring you something to eat yet?" "Wasn't hungry." Comes the terse response. Kovani's eyes don't meet Ambrosia's, so stolen looks go unnoticed. Losing seven or eight years of your life, so far as you know, can have the effect of rendering one the petulant teenager it turns out you are. Or should've been. That bit remains hazy. A loose thread on the sleeve of the young lieutenant's sleeve is treated to a frustrated tugging. When it fails to come free, she loops it around her finger and keeps pulling. "You look like you've eaten well." "I did," Ambrosia replies matter-of-factly. No use in lying about it to feign humility. Silk whispers over plastisteel and cushions as the costumed woman draws her legs up to the couch and settles into a more reclined position. "Not the best company, though. Our host is a bit too self-absorbed, for my taste." "Also, these shoes are ridiculous. I'm remembering why I maintained an updated list of excuses to avoid such stately invitations back...home." A sad smile softens her strained expression as she works to remove the ostentatious footwear. Gloss black boots are tilted through a beam of the recessed lights above. "Not really a problem here." she lifts one foot, the regular footwear's slight heel no more than any other officer wears. The Good Imperial is androgynous, after all. There's the hint of warmth to the remark previously missing. But she falls into an awkward silence again thereafter. "I thought they were letting you...us, go?" Ambrosia closes her eyes and utters a small sigh in the wake of Kovani's question. Guilty amusement retains the curl of her lips and she plops one cerulean and gold, frilled monstrosity to the floor, followed shortly by the other. Reaching into the silken fold at her waist, she fishes out a silk handkerchief, pink and pretty and equally obnoxious as the shoes. "It's your instinct to trust in their promises," she says, offering up the bundled treat to the Imperial youth, "I know. Lord Thel may lose interest in his little game soon, or he may not. Whatever the outcome may be...we should make the most of our current position. No?" "What is it?" A dubious eye passes over the bundled silk and lace. Kovani's back straightens and she pulls herself a little more upright, forgoing the slumped, dejected recline of a teenager she looks more like the young woman Ambrosia'd met in the medical bay. "Always kept them before..." she murmurs, a defensive response given as reflex. "...her lips purse, jaw rolling in unspoken thought. "...what outcome, do you think?" she ventures at length. "Well," Amber leads, adjusting her own posture into a sideways curl so she may unfold the dessert and place it upon the table for the little doctor to accept or refuse. It's a squared, flaky pastry of multiple layers, filled intermittently by different berry pastes. "He has what he wants, at least what he's admitted to wanting. If that's true, then we're no longer of use, and I'm a greatly-reduced threat. It's possible that we'll be dumped on some core world, beneath a watchful eye, or..." Brows furrowing, her features morph into a much more sincere, serious demeanor. "The Republic will find us first. And, if they do manage to execute a successful rescue..." Pausing, she lifts her head from her folded elbow and bestows Kovani with the well-practiced, soul-piercing stare of a mother hen. "You need to be ready to follow my lead." There's an awkward quiet, and slitted uncertain eyes when Amber trails off. They widen again as she unravels her meaning. "Most of the Stormtroopers disembarked for Caspar already" Kovani confides quietly. "Six thousand, one hundred and seven crewmen left aboard." she seems sardonically amused by the number. "Less one." Her jaw sets and she nods near imperceptibly, swinging her legs outward to find the floor she rises from the couch and moves to join Amber. Head finding the older woman's shoulder, hand to her lap. Lips obscured by blonde hair, she speaks in a low whisper and presses a small cylindrical object into Amber's hand. "This might help." Ambrosia's own head tips forward, but the ornate braids lend little to the face shielding. "Good girl," she breathes, fingers enclosing around the mystery gift. "What is it?" Her thumb strokes the surface, not recognizing the feel of it. "Comlink." Kovani replies, relinquishing control over the device with a measure of hesitation. "Short range. Few hundred meters...but, ships communications all route centrally. The flagship coordinates the entire fleet, thousands of channels. If I can patch in to it...I might be able to get a signal out." she lifts her head and fixes Amber with an adamant stare. Some of the Imperial instilled grit and durasteel surfacing. "I don't want my friends to die." "Then pray they don't stand between me and mine," Ambrosia replies, face turned equally hard as she slips the comlink into her sleeve and sits up. "Historically, our operations tend to be performed as quickly as possible, not only to reduce bloodshed, but because our resources don't afford us the luxury of pursuing overkill." Slipping away from Kovani, she rises with a soft grunt to her feet and shuffles to the little kitchenette and water dispenser. "I understand your worry. If an extraction should occur, I can command the operatives to spare individuals in our immediate vicinity, if possible...as I intended to do with you, as my on-board physician. Given the change in our relationship, that plan has likewise evolved." "Likewise evolved..." Kovani murmurs beneath her breath. A mimicry not entirely flattering, as she returns her knees to beneath her chin, eyes following Amber as she moves. "...you sound like them. Us. Them?" her voice rising to carry the growing distance. "What happens to me after? I had a life here. You might not have approved, but it was mine. I...I worked for it." "And I'm sorry you had to," Ambrosia answers back, voice thick with emotion. She keeps her eyes on task though, filling a glass of water. "That wasn't my choice, nor was there a chance, in my mind, that you still drew breath, after what they told me would become of you. I thought the closest I'd come to holding my baby would be if the cosmos aligned the drift of our frozen corpses, beyond the airlock!" Her hand tremors, spilling some of the water, but she ignores the puddle in favor of a shaky sip. "If I knew, things might have been different, sooner but...I didn't. And now, you still have a life. It will be different, I cannot deny that, but maybe not as different as you fear. There can be a very successful future for you, still, in the medical field. Refugee camps, civilian sectors...you don't have to service the Republican men and women who oppose all that you know. Not if you don't want to." "So sure they're not going to throw me in jail?" Kovani asks. Her tone is bitter, her eyes are fearful. "Put me on trial for war crimes?" her chin returns to her knees, muffling her voice as she speaks and pulls at the loose tread on her sleeve again. "...house arrest for the rest of my life." "What did they tell you?" One emerging from the teenage drama...one soon to enter into it. Palming at her cheeks, Ambrosia smears away some of the makeup with a little help from her tears. Hand's not enough. Snatching a towel from the wall, she wipes her skin raw to remove the perverse facade. "When I couldn't hide you anymore, when my belly grew too large to be explained away by the expensive cheeses and wines, they stuffed me in a cell. Consulted the suspected man, and made quick efforts to cover up his indiscretion. Wouldn't do well for rumor to spread, word to get back to whatever wife and family he had, planet-side." So they took you from me. It was nearly time, anyway, by the time he made his decision. Wasn't easy, I'm sure. I was a favorite. All men loathe to toss their favorite toys. I begged them to let me keep it - YOU. You." Casting Kovani an apologetic wince, she drops the towel to land kind of near the puddle and returns to the couch. "They said that such 'mistakes' couldn't be allowed to surface. They told me you were dead, when they pulled you. When I failed to accept that lie, they amended it by saying that you would be, soon. And if I didn't keep quiet, so would I." The 'it' earns a glower in response, but as the angry eyes settle on Amber's wince, the expression softens to one of sympathy. She listens quietly, fingers tucking a curl of hair behind her ear. "Who?" she asks eventually. "Who was it? Who, you know..." uncertain of whether it’s okay to say it. "What happened after? I mean...you're not there now. How did you..." the words trail off. Ambrosia perches tentatively on the edge of the couch, fingers picking at one another in her lap and nods, thoughtfully. It's a fight to maintain eye contact there, staring at a petite version of the nose of the man who, 'you know'. "Tyruni. His name, I don't remember the title. Somebody with weight to pull and secrets worth hiding." Rolling her eyes, Ambrosia hoists one knee over the other, flinching just a touch, as the new tissue is still a bit tender. "At least, he seemed most worried about my condition and was the official I tended to most frequently. Now that I can see you clearly, well...there's no doubt." Managing something akin to fondness, she reaches on impulse to touch Kovani's chin. "I recovered from the theft of you physically, but..." she shakes her head. "When once he enjoyed, encouraged my willfulness, the girl I became afterwards was far *too* disobedient. Not that I was ever very good at listening," pointing to the scars around her neck, she shrugs. "They just needed a reason to discard me. However small, however venial...I spilled a rather expensive bottle of brandy. On the lap of his superior." A flash of wickedness echoes in her eyes. "Perhaps not by accident. Didn't take them long to render me immobile and drooling, I suppose. Woke up on board a prisoner transport. Said transport didn't reach its destination. The end." Kovani listens in silence. The fetal young woman staring almost blankly through the tale. It’s only at its end that she moves. Her chin slips forward, putting her knee against her throat. She remains like that for a long, quiet minute. Then without a word she stands, crossing to the modest office space and the terminal it houses. "They've probably locked down my clearance..." she exclaims, drawing out the desk chair and keying in her authorization code. "...such as it was. But there might be something in the public registries." Ambrosia lets her go, following with eyes only. "What are you doing?" She cautions, tone low. Pivoting on her rear, she buries her toes between cushions and leans elbows forward against her knees, smushing an already uncomfortably smushed bust. "You know there will be record of any data entry we input..." An ambivalent shrug moves Kovani's shoulders. "So they know I’m looking up my 'father'?" Hair tossed over her should accompanies a backward glance. "What're they going to do? Shoot me?" There's that family stiff neck. The unit flickers into life, Imperial starburst rotating slowly in the centre screen as it searches for a local hub connection. A sharp, admonishing tone sounds from the terminal. "Naval personnel files is a no." Another. "Holonet access is locked down." She starts hammering the keys harder, evident frustration growing. "Medical records...restricted." The ambassador watches in silence for awhile as Kovani exerts her newfound, rebellious spirit...and gets shut down. And again. Grimacing, Ambrosia drags herself off the couch and comes to stand behind her, staring without expectation, or surprise, to the screen. "No, mi'li, but they will do that." Lifting a hand, she hovers it uncertainly over the girl's right shoulder. The young lieutenant bristles, visibly. The hovering shoulder goes largely unnoticed, as her elbows find the desk as she cradles her head in her hands. A hard kick to the wooden frame sends a shuddering wave through the furnishing. "Might as well be dead..." she sighs. A flash of inspiration. "Bureau of Births and Deaths...it’s a public record." Ambrosia returns her hand to its partner and fold both very tightly at the low of her spine. "You'll be wanting to search for his birth, then. I was never a citizen. I was never born, and I never died. At least, insofar as *public* record would tell you. But through him, well...you just may find the legitimate half of your family tree." Turn away''...' the voices whisper between her ears. 'Misery, to those who resurrect ghosts.' The last few words play out on her own tongue, hushed and afraid. Her gaze remains on screen, however. Morbid curiosity afflicts us all. The screen freezes. For long, tense seconds it remains that way. Then the list begins to render. Forty seven million results for Imperial births of a 'Tyruni'. As a surname. The databse isn't even searchable by given name alone. Kovani's shoulders slump. The woman's jaw set and fingers flexing into a fist as she works through the tension her anger has brought on. "Don't suppose you have a date and place of birth.." she gestures flippantly with the back of her hand to the screen. It might not even matter for the entire unit goes dead. The screen blanked before an ominous red Starburst fills the screen THIS UNIT HAS BEEN DISABLED BY ORDER OF THE IMPERIAL SECURITY BUREAU "Well...shit." An adequate enough description. "We'd already reached the end of our trail anyway, so I suppose it's just as well." Gnawing on her lip, Ambrosia turns away from the screen and the little volcano that may be on the verge of erupting. "However...best be on our guard now. No doubt our host is well aware of what we've been up to." She tips her head back to give a glance ceiling-wards. And blows a kiss. "Nnnnnghhh!!" Kovani rises to her feet with such speed and force that the weighty chair goes clattering backwards, skidding across the polished decking and her curled fist slams full force into the monitor. The sound of toughened glass absorbing the impact and barely shattering is accompanied by the sickening crunch of breaking bone and a scream of pain that washes away the anger. A stream of expletives flow from the young officer's mouth, the kind of language you can ONLY learn in the armed services as she clutches her throbbing hand. "I..I think it’s broken." she manages to groan through gritted teeth. Ambrosia's on it. Sort of. Actually, she has no medical training to speak of. But she's there! Seizing Kovani's upper arms after recovering from her initial startlement, Ambrosia pulls her away from the scene of the crime and starts back-stepping towards the fresher. "It certainly is!" the sympathetic mother exclaims, then makes a pointed look to the rapid swell of her daughter's shard-embedded knuckles. "And I imagine your hand is, too," she grumbles. "I suppose there's no denying which side of your lineage influenced ''that'''''." Lips tremor as Kovani tightens her grip around her wrist, blood oozing from the minor wounds. Her eyes settle on Ambrosia as the scene plays out - wounded child and concerned mother. Something that'd have happened many times if their lives had been allowed to follow their natural course. She allows herself to be guided to the fresher, the prospect of cold water an appealing one, she utters a strangled whimper of pain. "You got a temper too?" "You said it best yourself, the day I awoke in your assigned pod," Ambrosia recalls while halting at the doorway to the unit and gently shoving Kovani inside. "'Why didn't I just answer their questions?'" Following in after, she points the punchy girl towards her 'throne' and runs some cool water over the corner of a towel. "I earned every single one of those bruises, breaks, and withered nerve endings. We're all bearers of at least one vice. I've a short fuse, and, apparently so do you." Settling on the 'throne' one foot hooks around the ankle of the other and legs tense in rhythmic motions, timed with the throbbing pulses of pain radiating from her bloodied fist. "The other kids picked on me..." Kovani's eyes follow Ambrosia's motions, their roles of the past week now reversed. "Was small for my age. Or....not, as it turns out. I guess." Hedging, she eyes the damp towel. "How come you're so...stubborn. Seems like a slave would be, I don't know...more compliant?" "Compliance is a charade, my dear." Wringing out the towel, Ambrosia stoops to a knee with arthritic grace, cringing as the still-swollen tissue voices its complaint. She exhales thinly through her nose, then hands Kovani a face cloth with the instructions "Bite this." "You perform just enough to get what you want. Food. A soft bed. Fewer beatings." She shrugs and gingerly takes Kovani's fingers into her own to pull closer for examination. "Willpower can get you a long way in life, when there's nothing else to your name. Most of the time. There were some who were so broken, so far gone inside, that had their masters commanded them to put the serving knife into their own flesh, they would have done it." Reaching with budding, new fingernails for the first shard, she adds, "Some did." The good doctor declines the face towel, though she sucks in a sharp hiss of air and her features screw up upon contact. The knuckles are quite evidently broken, the swelling increasing by the moment. "I should...ahh!" she grips the seat with her good hand and stamps her foot down. "...take this to the medical bay. Might need stitches, at least splinting." "Probably so." Ambrosia agrees, plucking out a few remaining pieces of screen. She wipes it as carefully as she can with the wet portion of towel before swaddling it crudely with the rest. "No use lying about how the injury occurred, either. I'm quite certain they still watch *everything* it is we do in here. I'll hail our friends on the other side of the door with the intercom. Assuming it hasn't been blocked, too." Red in the face from the day's moderate exertions thus far, the ambassador pulls to her feet and without a thought about it, wipes her hands clean against the twilight-colored skirts, flowing from her hips. The half-smile Kovani pushes up from behind the veil of pain is reminiscent of the one she'd had in the medical pod all those days ago. How situations change. She rises to follow after Amber, cradling her damaged hand protectively against her chest. "I’m sorry..." she breathes quietly. "...for everything." "No," Ambrosia refutes softly, tracing her steps back to the large archway and skimming the walls for any inconsistencies. So stylish and camoflaged, these things. "You brought me back from the dead, *doctor*, and I compromised an entire faction's decade of work, to save yours. We're squared up, 'kiddo'..." The poor attempt at humor-laced indifference sounds as awkward as it felt, leaping from her tongue. Giving herself a kick to the head mentally, Ambrosia pushes her finger to the found button and holds it there for several seconds, then releases, adding "But off the record, I'd do it again." She mirrors Kovani's half smile and leans her cheek beside the minute speaker. Button punched, she purrs "Her ladyship requests a strrrapping, young escort to bear her guest to the medical bay. Do make haste." "Medical bay..?" Comes the response over the intercom. Even through a vocoder and comlink it sounds...surprised. And skeptical. "What the hell did you do..?" Kovani bites into her lip as 'mom' replies. Its not a happy expression she wears. "Doesn't really seem like a fair trade..." she murmurs. "...girl you thought was dead for everything you believe in." Stand away from the door!" the intercom barks an order, as the lock light switches from red to green with an accommodating chirp and the door mechanism spins up. Ambrosia stands 'away' obligingly, and pretends to not have heard Kovani's mutter. She's instead focused on whomever comes through the doorway. "I suppose there's no 'official' record to have warned your crew," she chirps back, hands held placidly at her sides, but not before she reaches up to rub at her neck, and transfer whatever was in her sleeve to nature's pocket in her bust line. A little rock back on her heels bounces it further into place. "I have a knack for breaking things." One stormtrooper advances into the room, visor sweeping about in case this is some kind of a trick. The old cliche 'my cell mate is sick!' has been in enough holo-films that even Stormtroopers have gotten wise to it. His companion, 'Seven' or possibly 'Eight', there's no way to tell, covers the two women with blaster raised. "She's lying..." Kovani pipes up, stepping forward to show off her broken, blooded hand swaddled in the soft white cotton towel. "...I got a little upset with the computer terminal." a backward jerk of her head to the damaged unit. "Multiple fractures of the metacarpal bones, abrasions, glass splinters..." she reels off the symptoms. "I need to go to the med-bay." "Sir." A slow shake of the glossy white helmet accompanies a heavy breath. And even those broad shoulders slump a little. "Oh for the love of..." he lifts a hand to his helmet. "VK-233417 reporting. I’m bringing a prisoner up to med-deck with minor hand injuries." the lead trooper steps aside, waving Kovani through the doors with his weapon. "...and I need a technician to repair a damaged terminal on deck three aft section. Secondary state room." "Why bother?" Ambrosia challenges Seven's second portion of his report dispassionately. "A little expensive for a nonfunctional piece of furniture, is it not?" Her voice sounds a bit strained with worry, hawk-like stare watching Kovani go with the presumed 'Eight'. "Nobody asked you, rebel!" Eight spits back, Kovani managing to flash a smile of scant reassurance to Amber as she's escorted from the room. Seven physically bristles, the urge to apply blaster stock to base of the skull is evident and certainly the standard protocol for mouthy prisoners but he restrains himself to verbal chastisement. "Stay here and stop breaking things. Or I'll have you thrown back into the detention block!" he steps back from the room, doors sliding closed with a weighty whir of motors and lock re-engaging. Ambrosia smiles, a bit smugly, while gazing into the soulless pit of black where eyes ought be. Maintaining silence from that point on, however, she swishes back into the heart of the state room and to the sleeping quadrant. It's time for a nap, while awaiting the tech-savvy visitor-to-be. After of course, she ditches her overstated dress. But what to wear instead? Finding herself a bit lost in front of the open wardrobe hatch, she cannot help but to lament her old sense of style, undoubtedly burnt to a crisp with the rest of her home. To whom did these once belong? Surely a personally-assigned fashion maven was not part of the standard, prisoner-watch crew. Ambrosia fingers a few sleeves, bats a few lacings, and finally selects a simply embellished, red tunic and black leggings. Sleepwear? Probably not, but it'll do.